


A Different Kind of Wedding

by OffYourBird



Series: The Jumpverse [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 04:27:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11729481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OffYourBird/pseuds/OffYourBird
Summary: A panicked vampire, a shocked Angel, and smutty goodness, oh my! It sounds like a different kind of wedding is on the horizon. Join Liz and Elly in this fluffy one-shot of their wedding and vow renewal, set in the Jumpverse (beginning with A Different Kind of Hell).





	A Different Kind of Wedding

_August 17, 1885_

“I think I shall have to tie down a vampire before this day is through.”

Buffy whirled from the mirror where she was examining her absurdly complicated updo, her chest filling with equal parts panic and exasperation. “Charles! What did you do?”

The man chuckled at her, to Helena’s clucking admonishment from where she was attempting to attach Buffy’s veil. “Charles, dear love, if you cause trouble, I will never get Elizabeth’s pinning done.”

Charles gave Buffy a mischievous sidelong look that settled into a mask of half-contrition under his wife’s piercing gaze. “I assure, you Miss Elizabeth, I have taken no part in the current discord.”

Buffy sighed. “Well, what did  _he_  do, then?”

“I believe it’s more a concern of what  _you_  might do.”

“Me?” Buffy frowned and put her hands firmly on her hips, almost startled at the amount of fabric under her fingertips. She was in full Victorian wedding regalia – a heavily bustled cream dress (replete with a sweeping square neckline that showed off her collarbone), accented heavily with thick French lace. To her relief, she’d been able to manage half sleeves in recognition of the sweltering Parisian August they’d been met with.

“I have been sent,” Charles said dryly, “as a watchman, as best as I can discover.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “That stupid vampire still thinks I’m going to run away? God, I’ve only reassured him a thousand times this week.”

“Confidence in the future has never been William’s strong suit, Miss Elizabeth.”

Buffy paused at that. Spike, for as long as she had known him, had always been incredibly impatient for the future, to the point that any Saturday always seemed to become a Thursday. She’d never really stopped to consider  _why_  that might be. Of course, Buffy thought wryly, there was an entire phonebook’s worth of things that she’d never considered about Spike. One that was hopefully shrinking a little more every year. She might be down to just A-R by now.

A smile curled up the edges of Buffy’s mouth. “Charles, will you please go get Elly and bring him here?”

Charles gave her a bemused look. “I believe it’s rather poor luck to see the bride before the ceremony.”

“Not to worry, Charles. We’re getting married  _now_. You have the rings, right?”

To his credit, Charles barely batted an eye. “In my coat pocket, Miss Elizabeth.” He paused as he turned toward the door. “Ah, what shall I tell William?”

“Tell him I couldn’t wait for Saturday.”

 

***

_May 25, 2001_

Buffy knew exactly when Angel arrived at the house. Heck, half of Revello Drive probably knew.

“Geez,” Dawn complained from the living room. “He’s going to break the freaking door if he knocks any harder.”

Buffy yanked open the door in the middle of the fisted assault, finding Angel wide-eyed on the porch. He dropped his arm upon seeing her.

“Buffy.” It was almost a whisper.

Buffy tilted her head as she examined him, knowing she had picked up the habit from her husband sometime in the last hundred years, despite herself. She really couldn’t say why, but changing the world by a few degrees somehow always threw any situation into sharper relief.

It was odd to remember that she’d seen Angelus more recently than she had Angel. More than that, she’d seen Angelus in his prime, and now recognized all the pieces of him in his souled self that she’d somehow been oblivious to once upon a time. The way he held his shoulders stiffly back, almost shivering from the tense control he exerted through them. The way his eyes were almost unnervingly unblinking as he sought to dominate the world through them, one scene at a time. The way his mouth curved gently down, always a moment away from a frown. And in the midst of her study, Buffy realized down to her bones that there wasn’t really an Angel. There was just the illusion of him, built around the swirling pit of guilt and self-hatred that Angelus wore next to his skin. Huh.

 _Chalk up another one to being old, I guess_. The full weight of what living for a century meant had been sharply brought into focus since Buffy’s return to Sunnydale, where nothing seemed to be as she had left it. Only it wasn’t Sunnydale that had changed. With a slight shake of her head, Buffy removed herself from her thoughts.

“Hello, Angel.” She stepped back a pace. “Please come in.”

The vampire stepped into the house within the moment, only to stop short just within the entry, gazing around in clear confusion. “The house looks… different.”

Buffy glanced around easily, taking in the smattering of late 19th and early 20th century furniture that had replaced most of the previous furnishings; the giant shelf of LPs and accompanying record player that stood against the fireplace side of the living room; the large, patterned rugs that softened the hardwood floor; the long line of black and white photographs that covered the walls, mixed sporadically with sprawling maps of places from Amsterdam to Australia and everywhere in between.

Their delivery truck had come early that morning, to Spike and Buffy’s elation and everyone else’s dismay when they realized the breakfast invitation was not just for casual reconnection.

“Hey, I do construction, not interior design,” Xander had commented immediately, hands up defensively.

“Look at it as broadening your horizons,” Spike had said dryly. “Now get over here and help me get this sodding desk through the door.”

Buffy smiled at the memory, turning back to Angel. “Spike and I had a lot of stuff to fit in here.” She gave him a mischievous look. “It’s amazing the kinds of things you can accumulate in a century.”

“… A century?” Angel’s brow furrowed. “Buffy, what’s going on?”

“Right now? Well, like Spike said over the phone, we’re getting ready to renew our vows tomorrow.”

Angel gaped at her. “I thought… God, Spike really wasn’t screwing with me?” He shook his head firmly. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

Buffy shrugged. “Spike and I jumped through a portal to save the world. Ended up over in merry old England in 1880, where I got made all immortal – and gotta tell you, that was so not of the fun. No one warns you that immortality starts with intense nausea. Anyway, we’ve been kind of on vacation for the last century, waiting to get back to our time.”

Angel just stared at her.

Dawn peeked around the corner, from near the couch. “She’s not crazy, you know.”

“Don’t know that I’d go that far, Niblet,” Spike said easily, as he came down the stairs. He stopped on the last step and gave Angel an appraising, almost amused look. “Been a minute, gramps.”

Angel took an unexpected step back and grabbed Buffy’s arm, to her complete bewilderment. “Buffy. Get away from him.”

Spike snarled at that, his blue eyes turning flat and icy. “Get your paws off my wife, mate.”

Angel gave Buffy a tight, almost relieved look, as if everything was suddenly all right with the world. “That’s not Spike.”

 _What the what?_  Buffy shook off the elder vampire’s grip and arched a brow. “What are you talking about?”

“Someone is messing with you, Buffy. That,” Angel jutted his chin at Spike, “is not my errant grandchild.”

Spike and Buffy traded bemused glances, their eyes widening in understanding at almost the same moment. To Angel’s obvious bafflement, the pair burst into laughter.

Angel drew himself up sternly. “This isn’t funny!”

Spike smirked at him. “Actually, Peaches, it is.” He turned over his left arm, exposing the be-spelled skin on his forearm. “Got myself all spelled up, once upon a bloody time. Muffles our jolly little family connection. Good to know it’s still holding.”

Buffy gave him a knowing smile and stepped away from Angel, toward the staircase and her husband. “Worth the highway robbery price tag?”

“Every cent.” Spike threw his grandsire an amused look. “Took you two days to drive a couple hours, then? Get lost along the way?”

Angel gave him a withering look, still stiff with mistrust. “I have responsibilities in L.A., Spike. I can’t just up and leave.”

“I’d say up and leaving’s actually your specialty, Peaches.”

“And not knowing when to leave is yours.”

“I’ll take persistence over being a spineless tosser any day.”

A snarl from Angel. “I will break you, boy.”

“Enough!” Buffy said sharply, rolling her eyes. “God, if there was ever a testament to the idea that age doesn’t bring maturity, you two are the freaking front cover.”

The two men eyed each other matching grimaces.

“Some hatreds are ageless,” Spike said finally, dryly.

A sudden thought struck her. “Spike, you know, I think you might actually be almost as old as Angel now.”

Her husband’s eyed widened, and a pleased smirk settled on his face. “Why, luv, I think you might be right.”

Angel looked back and forth between them, his face growing more confused by the second. “What?”

Dawn rolled her eyes from the living room doorway. “Weren’t you listening at all a minute ago? They’re like ancient now.”

“Oi!”

“Don’t antagonize the elderly, Dawn,” Thomas said cheerily, coming down the hallway from the kitchen. “They might pull something.”

“Very funny, Bit,” Spike said darkly.

Thomas grinned at him, stopping next to Buffy and examining Angel slowly, pointedly. “So this is Angelus. Huh.”

“Angel,” Angel corrected automatically. Then his eyes narrowed. “And you are?”

“Thomas Delancey. Liz and Elly’s nephew. Well, one of many, anyway.”

“ _Whose_  nephew?”

“Me and the Slayer’s,” Spike said lazily.

Angel gave him an incredulous and scornful look. “You’re going by  _Elly_ now?”

Spike’s face darkened. “Not to you, Peaches.”

Buffy huffed loudly. “What – no one cares that I’m ‘Liz’?”

Angel gave her a surprised look. “Buffy. Elizabeth. Liz. Makes sense.” He shrugged. “I thought Elizabeth was your real name for years anyway.”

Buffy glared at him. “Seriously, Angel? No, it’s not my real name.”

“Pretty much is one these days, luv,” Spike pointed out.

Buffy shrugged defeat, something nostalgic touching her then. She’d always been Elizabeth to Charles, from the first moment she’d known him to the very end. Despite his casual attitude about many things, decorum had never been one of them, and the name ‘Buffy’ had very obviously not been up to the standards of respect he held for her.  _Oh, Charles. I miss you._

Angel frowned even further as another thought seemed to strike him. “Wait… how do you have nephews?”

Spike gave Buffy a look. “You’re on duty for this one, pet. We both know how well me trying to tell a long story to Peaches is like to go over.”

Buffy grinned at him. “But watching the brawl might be entertaining, Elly.”

He glared at her. “That’s not even funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

“I’d watch,” Dawn added.

 

***

 

_August 17, 1885_

They’d originally planned to get married in a small nearby park at sunset – as their own personal, somewhat facetious salute toward the light and dark they seemed to eternally straddle – with Charles officiating and Helena bearing witness (not that it really mattered since none of it was legal, but… it felt right, anyway). Buffy never thought she’d be saying her vows in the early afternoon instead, in the middle of her tiny apartment living room.

“We could walk to the park still,” Spike offered gently.

Buffy wrinkled her nose. “Too many people during the day.” She glanced around their flat with a small smile. “I told you to marry me here. Seems fitting we should actually do it here, too.”

Spike favored her with a tender smile, which abruptly turned into a suggestive smirk. “And now there’ll be a few more hours until the reception.”

Charles cleared his throat quite pointedly. “Please do Helena and I the good turn of allowing us to evacuate first, if you might.”

Buffy grinned wickedly at him. “Only if you promise to move very quickly.”

“Miss Elizabeth, we shall have wings strapped to our feet.” Charles rounded on Spike with a mischievous gaze. “It’s your last chance to run, William.”

Spike never took his eyes off Buffy. “Now why would I do that, mate?” His voice had gone adorably hoarse.

“A decade of bachelorhood was quite something to reconcile against the, ah, changes of marriage. I can hardly fathom what over a century might mean.”

Helena turned to her husband with a raised brow. “Reconcile?”

Charles regarded her innocently. “Reconciling the immense increase in daily satisfaction, my dear.”

Buffy and Helena shared a long look.

“You married him,” Buffy said, fighting a grin.

“Is it too late for  _me_  to run, then?” Helena said with a wicked smile.

Buffy pretended to consider this for a moment. “I think your soon-to-be little one has kind of put the kibosh on running, yes.”

“Ah, more’s the pity.”

Charles shook his head at them, although his eyes were merry. “I am never in so much danger as when I am foolish enough to put you both in the same room.”

“Someone has to keep up with you, Charles,” Buffy said sweetly.

Spike, whose attention had still not moved from Buffy, chuckled lowly. He took a deep breath and grasped Buffy’s hands in his own. His were trembling. “You’re sure?”

Buffy couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “For the millionth and a half time. Yes.”

Spike’s gaze flickered over to Charles, a silly grin on his face. “Sorry, mate, no fleeing here.”

Charles nodded very stoically, although the edges of his mouth were quirked upward. “Well, misery quite loves company, as they say, old boy.”

Helena thwacked him on the shoulder.

 

***

_May 25, 2001_

“Uh, Angel? Are you okay?”

The elder vampire was sitting incredibly still, like a corpse, eyes looking down at his obviously engrossing shoes. He glanced up at her words, some mix of pain and disbelief and shock running across his face. He shook his head slowly, as if in a daze.

“I know it’s a lot to take in,” Buffy said kindly, “but if it makes you feel any better, none of the others got any more warning than you did. Less, really.”

He stared at her for a long moment. “You’re immortal,” he said finally, as if trying to convince himself.

“Yep.”

Something like mordant humor made the edge of Angel's lips curl upward and she caught his gaze flicker to her wedding band. “And married to Spike.”

“Yep.”

A sigh, followed by a long pause. “It feels stupid, Buffy, but…” He chuckled humorlessly. “I thought… I thought in the end, it would be us, you know? A forever kind of love.”

Buffy gave him a sympathetic, amused look. “Forever means something a little different to me these days, Angel.”

He swallowed. “Do you think… if you hadn’t jumped… it might’ve been us someday?”

Buffy tried to regard that seriously. Once, she might have been tempted to say yes without much thought. Once, she had been a young girl in love. Once, she hadn’t understood that love and commitment and trust were all tangled up so tightly with one another that to remove one made the whole thing fall down like a tower of tumbling blocks. “I think,” she said slowly, “that you have a good life in L.A. Faith’s told me a bit about it. And I think that, no matter what you feel for me, that would never have worked for us.”

Angel didn’t miss her careful choice of words. “No matter what I feel for you,” he repeated, with a twisted smile. “What about what you feel for me?”

Buffy laughed at him then. She couldn’t help it. “Angel. My god, I haven’t seen you in over a hundred years. Any version of you. I’m sorry, but you – like pretty much the entire state of California – have been a member of the “Distant Pieces of Buffy’s Past” hall of fame for some time.” She paused, smiling as she touched her ring. “I know it’s hard for you to understand, but William and I have been partners and lovers and friends for what has now been most of my life.”

Angel swallowed roughly. “You’re right,” he said finally. “It’s hard to understand.” He rose abruptly where he had settled on her couch. “I think I need to go.”

Buffy shrugged. “If you feel like you have to. We’d like you at the ceremony tomorrow.”

She got a sharp bark of laughter in reply. “I somehow doubt that.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Well, don’t. You’re family, and Elly and I have become kind of big family people over the years.”

Angel hesitated at that. Finally, he shook his head. “I’m sorry, Buffy. I have to go.”

And then all at once the vampire was gone, exiting her home almost as eagerly as he’d entered it. Buffy sighed and leaned back into the couch, closing her eyes. A small smile tugged at her as she felt her husband’s weight settle on the adjacent cushion a minute later.

“Peaches already scampered off, did he?”

“Mmm,” she replied, not opening her eyes. “You were right, you know.”

“Oh? About what?”

Buffy opened her eyes and tilted her head to the side, meeting Spike’s curious blue gaze. “About Angel. All those years ago, when you said the best way to get him to go away was to make it seem like he’d have to break a sweat.”

Spike chuckled lowly and tugged her into his lap. Buffy nestled into his shoulder with a happy little mewl, his skin radiating its familiar coolness against her cheek.  _Home_ , she thought drowsily.

“I'm sorry, luv,” Spike said then.

Buffy wrinkled her nose. “What for?”

“My wanker of a grandsire.”

“It’s no skin off my back, Elly.” She paused. “And that is a super gross expression. Ugh.” Shaking away the mental image her words had inspired, she kissed Spike’s neck where the joint met the shoulder, smiling when he shivered against her. “Like I told Angel, he’s been out of the picture for a long time. If anything, I should be apologizing to you. He’s  _your_  family.”

Spike snorted, sending a hand to lazily trail through her hair. “If I never see the tosser again in my life, I’ll be chuffed to bits.”

Buffy very pointedly began lacing his neck with slow, light kisses. “That is definitely a possibility after our conversation.”

“It's not nice to tease,” he told her, his voice growing husky.

She bit down on his neck with blunt teeth, and his breath exhaled in a sharp hiss. Grinning, Buffy moved her lips to his ear, saying softly, “When do I ever tease you, Elly?”

“All the bloody time, you minx.”

“I don’t think it counts as teasing if it ends up with us naked and fucking.”

“You’re missing all the other millions of moments when I want to rip off your clothes and shag you senseless then.”

“Don’t think I’m trying to tease you at those times, Spike.”

Spike rumbled a low, sexy laugh. “You bloody well make me barmy,” he said lowly, “just by standing there.” His hands very slowly brushed across the curve of her breasts over her shirt, lingering on her covered nipples, and she whimpered as jolts of fire drew a line down to her clit. “Just by having your perky little tits.” His other hand wandered to the curve of her hip, slipping down into the waistband of her jeans to rest, barely touching, against her mound, making heat pool in her belly like warm honey. “Just by having that delectable quim, always so bloody hot and wet for me.” He nudged her head from his shoulder, and looked at her with those ridiculously blue eyes of his, filled with love and desire and mirth. With a small, knowing smirk, he captured her mouth with his, tongue tangling against hers in that exact way he knew would make her breath gasp from her with harsh irregularity. He pulled away as he succeeded, leaving his lips next to hers. “Just by having that pouting mouth that always looks so good ‘round my cock.”

Buffy’s breath hitched and she stood, untangling herself from the surprised vampire. “Upstairs. Now.”

Spike fixed a smoldering stare on her. “Why not here, pet.”

“Dawnie.”

His leer faded into a sigh. “Bugger. Still getting used to that.” Abruptly, he stood and lifted her into his arms like a new bride, to her surprised squeal. “Right. Up we go.”

Giggling, Buffy let him carry her up the stairs and into their room. Once her mother’s, the space was almost unrecognizable now with their things in it, a collection of all the pieces that had followed them for a century, like the thick quilt on the edge of their bed, knitted by Helena in a fit of nesting fervor before Charlie’s birth; and the ones they’d safely kept in storage, like the giant, intricately carved armoire that stood against the far wall, almost as high as the ceiling.

As Spike lowered Buffy onto their bed, Dawn’s exasperated voice rang out from the hallway. “Try not to scar me for life this time. This morning was way not something I needed to hear.”

Spike huffed and strode away to lean out the doorway toward her little sister. “For Chrissake, Niblet, go downstairs.”

“It doesn’t help,” Buffy heard her sister say petulantly.

Buffy snorted a laugh, staring up at their ceiling. Huh, that definitely needed repainted. “Make Thomas take you out for ice cream,” she suggested.

There was a moment of silence, followed by a cheerful, “Awesome.”

Though Buffy couldn’t see his face, she knew Spike was rolling his eyes. “Now go on, Bit.” He paused a moment then, obviously listening to Dawn tromp down the stairs, before turning back to Buffy, firmly shutting and locking the door behind him.

“Now where were we?”

Buffy grinned from her position on the bed. “I believe you were about to rectify me being a tease, Elly.”

Spike prowled toward her, stripping off his dark blue v-neck tee. “Believe you’re right, pet.” He eyed her with a raised brow. “You are wearing far too many clothes.”

Buffy gave him a knowing look. “Any clothing is too much by your standards.”

“Bloody right it is. So why are you still wearing any?”

Buffy gave him an innocent look from behind her lashes. To her eternal delight, baiting Spike had only gotten more gratifying over the years. “Teasing, remember?”

Five minutes later, Buffy no longer had to worry about said clothes. In fact, they were laying in about six pieces around the room, likely never to be worn again.

Spike had her on all fours on the bed and was fucking her with torturously slow thrusts, one hand lazily circling her clit, the other on the back of her neck, holding her firmly in place as he slid in and out of her with infuriating casualness. His fingers brushed his bite marks on each side of her neck, making her shudder wildly.

“Faster, Elly… Ungh… Oh, god, faster… please.”

Behind her, Spike chuckled, the sound abruptly cutting to a groan as she viciously twisted her hips.

“Fuck, pet.”

“That’s what you get,” she panted, arching her back desperately, keening as his hand on her clit began stroking her faster, in rapid swirling circles, like a never-ending cursive alphabet meant to drive her completely insane. Everything in her tightened as the tickling heat in her belly became incredibly urgent, spiraling up with undulating, throbbing promise until it crested from her with a gasping cry.

Spike breathed in sharply behind her as she strangled his cock and fucked her faster, still holding her neck in a strong hand as he slammed into her. “Bloody hell, Buffy. Always,” he grunted, struggling for words. “Always so… bloody… perfect.” He came in her a moment later with a satisfied groan. After giving her a moment to catch her breath, Spike pulled her by her waist on top of him, so that they ended up tumbled on the bed with Buffy’s back against his chest. They laid in comfortable silence for a long minute, until Spike made a small noise in the back of his throat. “Ceiling needs a spot of paint.”

Buffy giggled, turning to face her vampire. “I thought the exact same thing earlier.”

Spike gave her a wry look. “We’ve turned bloody domestic in a hurry, haven’t we?”

“Was bound to happen at some point.” Buffy snuggled into his chest with a contented sigh. “It’s nice.”

Spike’s arms settled around her with their usual protective weight. “Yeah,” he agreed softly. “It is.”

Buffy was almost asleep when Spike spoke again. “You ready for the show tomorrow, luv?”

“Mmm,” she said drowsily. “You’ll be there?”

There was a small, startled silence, followed by, “Of course I’ll be there, you silly bint.”

“Then I’m ready.”

 

***

_August 17, 1885_

"Now, shall we at last bring William up to the standards of proper society?"

Buffy looked slyly at her soon-to-be husband. "Have you  _met_  Elly?"

"Oi!"

"To my everlasting astonishment, I have," Charles deadpanned. He turned to Buffy calmly. "I shall leave it to your power to try and curtail his other vices."

Buffy looked at Spike with eyes as wide as she could make them. "Oh, no, Charles. I don't think anyone has enough power for  _that_.”

Spike growled at her. "Bloody irritating chit. Don't make me regret wanting to marry you."

"I'm pretty sure I had to make you ask me, Spike."

"All the more reason for you to worry then."

They eyed each other steadily for a long moment, before the edges of Spike's eyes crinkled up and he chuckled lowly, followed by Buffy's own escaped giggles.

Helena regarded the two time-travellers fondly. "They're quite the pair, aren't they, my dear?"

"Quite," Charles agreed warmly.

Spike gave Buffy a hesitant, questioning look. "Shall we do it then, luv?"

"Just how many times are you going to make me say 'yes' today, William?"

He looked a little irritated at himself then. “Right. Sorry.”

“Shut up and marry me.”

 

***

 

_May 26, 2001_

Really, Buffy didn’t know what she had expected. It was the Hellmouth, after all. And it was a night when they were very clearly trying to do non-Hellmouthy things. So of course a demon biker gang had to decide to show up.

The entire crew was gathered – Scoobies and Bits and Vampires – and ready to cross the street to the abandoned construction site that was meant to be Glory’s, well, place of glory. In the strangest way possible, Buffy almost wanted to thank the insane Hell God.

“Can we send Glory a ‘thank you’ card in Hell?”

Spike grinned at her, understanding immediately. “Think it’d add to her bloody eternal torment, so don’t see why not.”

And then the sound of roaring bikes interrupted them, followed quickly by the sight of some seriously ugly demons on Harleys.

“Oh, they are so not up to dress code.” Buffy sighed, glancing down at the short white dress she was wearing. “Good thing I’m not all Victorian this time.”

She and Spike traded a look, saying everything that needed to be said.

_Ready, luv?_

_Ready._

“Albert, throw me that axe, will you?”

“Oui, General.”

Rule number one of the Hellmouth. Or three. Or five. Or whatever: Never leave the house without the proper weaponry. Even on a party day. Maybe especially on a party day.

Buffy wasn’t really certain what the leathered up bikers thought they were going to accomplish by riding into prime Slayer territory, but she was incredibly sure they didn’t expect two Slayers, three vampires, two witches, a Watcher, and several other sidekick humanoids.

“Leather’s not even real,” she heard Spike grumble as he snapped one demon’s neck.

Buffy ducked a steel chain snapping toward her face, viciously kicking at one of the bikes and sending its rider flying. “Why am I not surprised? Real bikers would be smarter than this.”

“Giving us all a bad name.”

“Last time I checked, you didn’t actually own a bike, Elly.”

“Bloody will now.”

The fight was over almost as soon as it had begun, punctuated only by a desperate, “Little help over here, guys!” from Xander when two demons cornered him against a storefront, and an amused exclamation from Thomas as he deftly ducked a rather burly faux-biker. “Not the most adept sods, are they?”

And yet, somehow, even with a crack team, Buffy’s dress still ended up the worse for wear. She sighed at the grease and demon guts that coated her once pristine attire. “I should know better than to wear white.”

Spike came up next to her, grinning. “Not as if you’re right virginal, anyhow, pet."

Buffy snorted. “That ship sailed like a million years ago.”

Faith came up next to them with a mace slung over shoulder, her face bright from exertion. “So what’s the big, B? Looks Slayer appropriate to me.”

Buffy blinked, a laugh escaping her unexpectedly. “You know, I think you’re right.” She gave Spike a pointed look. “Should we do this then, Elly?”

He smirked at her, his blue eyes dancing with recognition of her words. “Just how many times you need me to say ‘yes’ today, Slayer?”

“Just once.”

 

***

_August 17, 1885_

They had rented a demon-friendly reception hall for after the vows, to celebrate with their multitude of Parisian friends; however, no one outside the Delanceys was privy to the exact truth behind Buffy and Spike’s presence, and so the ceremony was kept entirely private. If there was ever a time they needed to not pretend, it was here. Now.

“Buffy,” Spike said softly, her hands crushed within his, his blue eyes overflowing with love and tenderness and something unreadable that she guessed to be shock or awe or determination. “I never…” he paused, chuckling lowly. “Christ, Buffy. Thought this would be the last place I’d ever be. Best I ever hoped for was to be your temporary lover.” He smiled at her, a real unguarded smile that was entirely William. It was astoundingly beautiful. “Never thought I’d be your husband.” He inhaled slowly, unnecessary breath shuddering through him. “But I… fuck, pet, I can’t imagine being anywhere else now. Going with you through that portal was the best thing I’ve ever done in my entire bloody life.” He regarded her then with a level of seriousness that took her breath away. “And I’d do it again in a heartbeat – no matter where it led. Buffy, I’d follow you into hell every day for a thousand years and never regret it. I’d welcome it, point of fact.”

 

***

 

_May 26, 2001_

Same as with their tongue-in-cheek plans for a sunset park wedding, renewing their vows underneath the shadow of Glory’s hell tower struck some kind of perfect chord in Buffy, that thin edge between hysterical absurdity and solemn promise. This had been where it started, after all. The first of the swears.  _You’re gonna survive it and get back_. And her vampire had made sure it was true.

“William.” Buffy stood now just beneath the dangerously leaning tower (the others all watched from a few feet away, Xander exclaiming, “Does this seem incredibly morbid to anyone else?”). Spike hands were held tightly in hers. Her voice, she knew, was shaking. “There’s not a single iota of me that could have ever imagined this… this life we have.” She smiled at him with every ounce of love she possessed, seeing it reflected in his eyes. “But now… that collection of iotas – every speck of me – belongs to you.”

There was a collection of sniffling sighs from the two witches, Anya, and Ellen, to Xander’s utter bafflement. “What’s with the waterworks, ladies? I mean, it’s nice and all, but it’s…”

Willow wiped at her eyes with a weepy smile. “It’s Whitman.”

“And again I say: huh?”

Spike, still gazing at Buffy, began to recite lowly, in a cadenced voice she knew none of the Scoobies had heard before, “I celebrate myself, and sing myself, and what I assume you shall assume, for every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.”

Buffy gave her husband a nostalgic and slightly mischievous look, her chest feeling warm and full with love. “Radical, wouldn’t you say, William?”

He rumbled a low laugh. “Still like the bloke though.”

The others fell silent, throwing each other sidelong glances as they realized the pair seemed to be having two conversations at once.  _Sorry, guys, this one happened in 1880. It’s way too late to explain._

“He’s the first poet you ever recited to me, you know. From your point of view, at least.” She scrunched up her nose. “Which, again, so with the time weirdness.”

Spike tilted his head in consideration, smiling gently. “So he is.”

Giles, nearby, looked a bit pole-axed. She’d had her once-Watcher walk her through the abandoned construction site and to her waiting husband. It was, she recognized, not only silly, but also super with the unneedful. Still, it very ceremoniously (and also very literally) made Giles hand her to her husband.  _Trust me, accept me_ , her request had said. And he’d consented, eyes shining with what she suspected might’ve been tears.

“Poetry?” Giles exclaimed then, looking entirely dumbfounded.

Spike sighed. “Yeah, yeah, Watcher. It’s bloody poetry, alright?” They hadn’t said much about William in their retelling of history to the Scoobies, beyond to say that he had been a kind, good man. Still, she was sure it hadn’t escaped Giles’s notice that the bookshelf they’d unpacked in the living room had been littered with all sorts of tomes that were clearly  _not_  fashion magazines.

To her surprise, Giles didn’t press the issue (for now), instead simply murmuring, “Good lord. That explains a lot.”

Spike gave the Watcher a pained look, likely rightfully suspecting that there would be a lot more conversation about the history of William in the near future.

“So you’ll have me,” Buffy said then, almost whisper quiet, “for another hundred years at least?”

Spike looked at her steadily, through those blue eyes that knew her so well, that loved her more than she ever could have envisioned and – still, some days – more than she could physically understand. “I’ll have you until I’m dust,” he said lowly, passionately. “And even then, everything that remains is yours.”

He pulled her close, against his cool frame, both of them slightly sticky from demon goo, and slightly disheveled from fighting, and slightly thrumming from the need to be  _here_  – more  _here_  than their bodies could manage, but that their hearts still demanded.

“I love you, William Ellsworth,” she whispered against his lips. “I love you, Spike.”

“I love you, Buffy.”

And then he was kissing her, and nothing at all else in the world mattered.


End file.
